Catland - a humorous fantasy

Chapter Five: Things Get Even Weirder

Leopold led Greg into Greg's office. The cat was trotting along on all fours again, and for a moment it seemed just like an ordinary cat, instead of a secret prince of a secret kingdom who was also, secretly, kind of a jerk. The cat disappeared beneath the desk and reemerged a few seconds later, walking upright on its rear paws, holding the emerald necklace aloft in one of its forepaws, and looking exceedingly pleased with itself.

"All right," said Greg, anticipating the cat's smug pronouncement, "that's actually quite nice. Much nicer than a toothpick. But I still don't see how it's going to help you get your kingdom back. Unless your mysterious usurper has a weakness for shiny things."

In the past half hour, Greg had been more sarcastic than he had probably ever been in his whole life put together. He liked it. He resolved to do more of it in the future.

But Leopold didn't stop smiling. "Put it on," he said.

"I don't think it's exactly my color," said Greg. Another good one. He obviously had a gift for this.

"Put it on," insisted Leopold.

Greg couldn't think of a second sarcastic comment to make, so he sighed elaborately and put the necklace on.

That was when things got really weird.

Again.

Greg suddenly found himself staring at an enormous cat. The cat looked like Leopold, but it was about twenty times the size of Leopold. It was the size of a particularly enormous dog, or a fairly small horse, or a ridiculously small rhinoceros. It was bigger than a tiger, bigger than a panther, just about the size of a ...

A lion. That was it. It was a housecat the size of a lion. And it didn't look very nice.

"Good kitty," said Greg.

"Don't be offensive," said Leopold. For of course it was Leopold.

Greg now had the presence of mind to look around him, and he noticed that the chair pulled up to his desk was about the size of a small office building. He noticed that the ceiling was impossibly remote—so remote it might almost have been the sky. He noticed that the door was giant-sized too, and it began to dawn on him that the only thing which had actually changed size ... was him.

"What did you do to me?" croaked Greg.

"I didn't do anything to you," said Leopold's silky voice. "You put on the necklace. Some would say that the necklace is magic. But of course, all magic is nonsense."

Hastily, Greg removed the necklace—and in a twinkling, without any transition, he was back to his normal human size. The chair was chair-sized. The door was door-sized. Everything was fine.

"Are you prepared now to be a bit more open-minded?" inquired Leopold. His voice had become insultingly gentle. He was clearly a past master at condescension.

Greg swallowed. "What are the toothpicks for?" he asked hoarsely. There was no trace of sarcasm in the question. He wasn't sure he could ever be sarcastic again.

"You aren't ready to learn about the toothpicks," replied Leopold flatly. "But if you will be so kind as to descend again to my level, I will tell you the remainder of my tale."

Slowly, without thinking much about it, Greg put the necklace back on. He tried to notice the moment when he began shrinking, but there simply was no such moment. One instant he was a full-sized human, safe and tall in his normal-sized human world, and the next instant he was staring into the giant eyes of a giant cat with a somewhat patronizing attitude. Greg felt small in more ways than one. He felt cowardly and pathetic. He began to see the merits of Leopold's description of him.

"Now then," said Leopold, "we were speaking of my kingdom's treasures. Obviously, my thefts could not long remain undetected. As I continued my daring escapades, I began to run afoul of that repulsive specimen you chased out of your kitchen. His name is Gurgeon—Gurgeon the Blind. Of course, he's only blind in one eye; his other eye is as keen as a needle. Again and again he traced me on my errands. Again and again we did battle. You saw the results of our last encounter. Gurgeon is as brutal as he is stupid. And he is very, very stupid indeed."

Just the thought of that filthy, mottled monster of a cat made Greg wish he were five-feet-nine-inches tall again. He shuddered involuntarily. Maybe he should get a dog.

"Tonight, Gurgeon followed me here," Leopold continued. "I thought I had lost him in the alleyways, but it appears I underestimated him. Now he knows where I have hidden myself. This is no longer a safe place."

Leopold lowered his eyes. He looked suddenly bashful.

"This next thing is difficult for me to say, Gregory Tilson. It is something I have never said before—certainly not to a human. But there is a time for pride, and a time to set it aside. A true prince knows when to face up to the truth. And the truth is this."

Leopold's eyes darted up and met Greg's. They were a vivid green, shot through with gold and amber, and they seemed to bore into his very soul.

"I need your help," said Leopold. And Greg felt more afraid than he had ever felt in his life.